Lullaby for a Stormy Night
by IronAmerica
Summary: The parents of the Cape comfort their children in different ways. A peek into the private lives of our favorite families. Title comes from a song by Vienna Teng, which was also this fic's inspiration.
1. Unwanted Stranger

Hey, it's a new story! Peter's up first on the smorgasboard of mental angst and torture.

Un-beta'ed, so quibble away.

- o – o -

Lullaby for a Stormy Night

Chapter one: Unwanted Stranger

Peter Fleming knew his company, ARK Corporation, would cause problems. He'd expected them to come sooner, in all honesty. In his mind, though, it wouldn't have caused… Well, no _serious_ problems. Maybe someone would threaten him, or try to convince him to merge his start-up into their company and then try to force him to take a very minor position in _their_ company. But…

Well, he'd never expected any of his rivals to take things so seriously.

The billionaire winced as he touched his split lip. He didn't look in the mirror much these days. Part of it was because of the injuries he was recovering from. The other part was because he didn't want to look at the person responsible for his wife's death. He didn't want to see the man who'd been responsible for his daughter's torture looking back at him out of eyes that had once been…warm, alive. Diana had called them eyes the color of spring before; now… Well, she'd be as scared of them as he was.

He sighed, sinking into a hard armchair and buried his face in his hands. He'd done bad things before, but nothing had ever been so terrible as what he'd done—

_Six weeks, five days, fifteen hours, forty-two minutes, and three seconds ago_, an unwanted voice muttered. Peter bit the side of his hand to choke back a sob. He'd let loose the darker parts of his psyche to save his baby girl, and had, in turn, created something so much worse than the monster he'd been trying to destroy.

Chess was an unwanted product of a desirable outcome. He was Peter's mirror twin, his…darker half. All his base impulses and desires, his murderous rage that had been so carefully buried made manifest in a sociopathic, immoral bastard.

_While I'd love to chat with you more about _your_ short-comings as a human being, Peter, your baby girl is having another nightmare._

Peter pelted for the door of his bedroom, too large without Diana's presence, not bothering to grab a bathrobe or slippers. He reached the door to Jamie's bedroom, wondering just when that hallway had gotten so long. The man paused, one hand on the doorknob as he listened for the telltale sobbing. He really ought to call Samuels, but… Well, it was one in the morning. Maybe, just maybe…

Maybe he could do this himself?

Fleming chewed on his lower lip for a few seconds, before taking a deep breath to steel his resolve. He was Jamie's _father_, for god's sake. He could do this! Hell, even his unwanted _friend_ could do this—perhaps not as gently, or even as lovingly, but Chess wouldn't be so afraid… _Damn. _Now he'd _have_ to go, or endure Chess's taunts for another sleepless night.

He pushed into the room, wondering just when a room so pink and cotton candy-like had gotten so dark and depressing. This was his little ballerina's room. It was supposed to be fit for a princess, not resemble that treacherous, cavernous warehouse she'd been tortured in.

Jamie was curled up in the center of her bed, a massive wooden monstrosity carved to look like a seashell. Her blankets were tangled around her feet, and she was still kicking weakly at them. Her face was screwed up in a pained grimace, and her hands were grasping for something. Her teddy bear, Peter guessed; a corduroy thing from his own childhood—the ribbon had been replaced, though. Jamie much preferred the red-and-black checked pattern tied in a bow to a maroon strip of velvet, knotted like a proper tie. Every so often, a heartrending whimper would escape from her lips.

Peter crossed the room in a second, sinking down on the plush feather mattress next to his little ballerina. After a second's hesitation, he picked her up and cradled her in his arms. The man rubbed her back, murmuring whatever soothing things came to mind. After a few minutes that seemed to stretch on for eternity, Jamie's sobs and pained whimpers died away and she fell back into a restful sleep.

The billionaire sighed in mixed relief and happiness. He'd calmed his daughter down on his own, and his guilt—for once—wasn't eating away at his insides.

_Good boy_, Chess murmured. Peter didn't even register the comment as he dosed off, still holding Jamie close to his chest. For one night, all was well.

No unwanted strangers bothered either of their dreams for the rest of the night, for a good long while.

And Peter was just fine with sleeping on a cot in his daughter's room to make sure that happened.

- o – o -

So, that's the first chapter. What did you think? Good? Bad? Want to give Peter a big ol' hug too? Drop a line and let me know!

General disclaimer: I don't need to point out that The Cape isn't mine-if it were, it'd still be on the air! The story and chapter titles come from a song by the talented Vienna Teng, titled Lullaby for a Stormy Night. You should go check it out.


	2. I Was Afraid

Hey, it's a second chapter! Now I get to torture Scales! Should I feel bad about this...?

Un-beta'ed, so quibble away.

- o – o -

Chapter two: I Was Afraid

Dominic "Scales" Raoul knew he was unfit to be a parent. Hell, he had the scars to prove that he'd never learned _how_ to be a good father. He wasn't…well, he wasn't very good at anything. Sure, he was good at physical labor, and he was _really_ good at scaring the stuffing out of the other mob lords just by looking at them out of the corner of his eye… He wasn't fit to be a parent though.

Somehow, though, he'd ended up with an armful of sleeping child. The smuggler looked down at the tiny infant, wrapped in a pink blanket. He'd read that parents were supposed to feel love, or at least patient exasperation, when they saw their children. He, on the other hand, could only feel an icy hand of fear crushing his heart.

In his more rational mind, Scales knew that McClintock had done a number on him when he'd been a nipper. In his less-rational and more in-control mind, however, he suspected that he'd deserved it. Maybe he'd cried too much, or too little; maybe he'd said the wrong thing, or hadn't said anything. But either way, why had anyone in their right mind entrust him with an infant, just barely three months old?

Oh. Yes. That was because this _particular_ infant was his.

Scales stared down at the three-month-old, chewing on his lower lip. Elizabeth Victoria Raoul had been almost a month premature. This was the first time since she had been born that the doctors had said she was well enough to come home. During the months between her birth (and her mother's death), and now, Scales supposed he'd been looking forward to this. Then he'd gotten the chance to hold her in his arms for the first time.

One tiny green fist poked out of the blanket, wrapped around his thumb. The smuggler didn't know how that had happened, and it kind of terrified him. Was _this_ parenthood? The mind-numbing fear that came with trying to raise something more fragile than your average eggshell? If it was, Scales wanted no part of it.

He sighed and began trying to disentangle himself from his daughter's hand. Almost as soon as he had, the little girl began wailing. Scales blanched at the noise, terrified that he'd broken something important. _Jesus, had _he_ been like this as an infant?_ The smuggler rocked his arms a little, trying to remember all the instructions Mrs. Kazcanowiczk had given him about her. Nothing was coming to mind, and…

Hell. All of this had started when he'd pulled his hand out of her grip. Had…had he really upset her so much? Scales stared down at Elizabeth, who was still wailing to wake the dead. He _really_ wasn't cut out for this…

Scales sat down on one of the stools in the kitchen, cradling his daughter in one arm. Maybe…maybe if he let her hold his hand again, she'd calm down. That was right, wasn't it? Feeling more worried and sick to his stomach than he should have, Scales wrapped his hand around Elizabeth's, marveling at just how tiny and fragile hers was.

Almost immediately, Elizabeth calmed down. Scales watched in surprise as she turned towards him, sucking on her free hand. She really did want him to stay in contact with her… He really couldn't believe it, and yet…

He sighed, feeling older than his thirty years. This was insane, he decided as he relocated to his easy chair in the den. But maybe… Maybe he _could_ be a better parent than that tosser had been to him.

Scales smiled a little as he dozed off, Elizabeth still cradled against his chest.

- o – o -

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Glad that Scales is getting over some of his past traumas? Drop a line and let me know.


	3. Someday You'll Know

Chapter three already? Heh. Dana might not be so happy with me, though...

Un-beta'ed, so quibble away.

- o – o -

Chapter three: Someday You'll Know

Dana sat on the sofa in her new apartment's living room, nursing a mug of coffee and wishing it was laced with something a lot stronger than sugar. She'd spent too many sleepless nights to enjoy the taste of coffee anymore. Not that she'd begrudge those nights spent up, of course. There were some things so much more important than her love of coffee or need for sleep. Like her son…

She sighed and took another sip of her coffee. Ever since the…ever since ARK Corporation had murdered her husband, Dana hadn't had a decent night's sleep. Neither had Trip, of course. Dana was still working through the numbness she associated with thinking Vince had died. Trip, though… Trip had never been old enough to understand what the men in uniforms at the door had meant. He'd only been six months old; now, though, he was nine and understood what the explosion meant. His dad was _never_ coming home.

The former lawyer rubbed at her eyes. She'd spent almost a month, running on coffee and naps during the day so she could spend the night up to make sure Trip didn't suffer. She set the cup down on the coffee table and stood up, wrapping an old blue afghan around her shoulders. The woman began pacing, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. Eight and a half years ago, she'd had a support group to help her deal with Vince's disappearance. Now… Now all she had were death threats and angry looks every time she went out.

_ARK Corporation had a lot to answer for_, Dana thought darkly. She didn't care if she never had absolution or—better than absolution—revenge, but her son was another matter entirely. ARK had to apologize to her son, Peter Fleming had to pay… _Oh god, why…?_ Dana sank down to the floor, face buried in her hands. Muffled sobs soon filled the apartment as Dana indulged in a rare moment of self-pity.

And, once again, any indulgences she might have taken part in were put on the back burner. Dana was on her feet in seconds, running for her son's bedroom. It was almost half past midnight, and—as always—Trip's nightmares had taken hold of his dreams again. Dana couldn't recall a time when Trip had ever had a restful night's sleep. Hell, she couldn't remember the last time _she_ had had a good night's sleep!

Dana crept into her son's room, dodging some of his toys that he'd forgotten to pack away again. Trip was curled up on his side, blankets on the floor. His hands were pressed over his ears, and his eyes were closed as tightly as they could be while he was still asleep. The worst part of the nightmares was the inhuman wail of fear coming out of his mouth. Dana sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her son into her arms.

The psychiatrist who lived next door would have been horrified at how she was handling the situation, but Dana didn't care. Her son needed her, and damn the consequences.

As Dana held him, she began humming a lullaby. She hadn't had to sing Trip to sleep since he was a baby. She smiled a little, remembering just how fussy her son had been. She and Vince had gotten a lot of exercise during Trip's first year. Going for a run with mommy or daddy always put him right back to sleep, or a lullaby from Dana in unusually good situations would do the trick.

"And I'll still be here in the morning…*" Dana hummed, rubbing Trip's back.

Eventually, Trip settled back down to sleep. Dana, finally exhausted and assured of the rest of the night being peaceful, crept back to her own bed.

She kept the door open anyways.

- o – o -

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Want to give Dana a gift-wrapped Vince? Drop a line and let me know.

Once again: The story and chapter titles come from a song by the talented Vienna Teng, titled Lullaby for a Stormy Night. You should go check it out.


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